


Colours

by LuminousGloom



Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Anniversary, Commitment, Committed Relationship, Established Relationship, Established Sirius Black/Remus Lupin, Fluff and Angst, Happy Ending, Joyful, Love, M/M, Romance, Smut, celebration
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-17
Updated: 2017-11-17
Packaged: 2019-01-10 09:44:34
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,759
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12296553
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LuminousGloom/pseuds/LuminousGloom
Summary: R/S Games 2017 - Day 13 - Team SiriusToday is their anniversary. It’s the first time Sirius has remembered it, since Azkaban. He decides to mark the occasion.





	Colours

**Author's Note:**

> **Team:** Sirius  
>  **Title:** Colours  
>  **Rating:** NC-17  
>  **Warnings:** none  
>  **Genres:** Fluff/Romance, Angst, Smut  
>  **Word Count:** 8700  
>  **Summary:** Today is their anniversary. It’s the first time Sirius has remembered it, since Azkaban. He decides to mark the occasion.  
>  **Notes:** Tremendous thanks to N, S, and V for your sage input! And big love to my cracking team for being so very entertaining and supportive.  
>  **Prompt:** E - "We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love. It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person." - W. Somerset Maugham

_We are not the same persons this year as last; nor are those we love._  
_It is a happy chance if we, changing, continue to love a changed person._  
_\- W. Somerset Maugham_

 

It’s today. Leaning against the kitchen counter, bathed in pale golden morning sunlight, Sirius stares at the date printed on the Daily Prophet, his cup of coffee frozen halfway to his lips. He’s not straining, not trying to grasp for vague shapes in the fog, it’s just appeared, perfectly clear in his mind. 

_Today._ The day they’d done it, all those years ago. Suddenly aware of the cup in his hand, he takes a long sip, before setting it down with a clatter. 

A day like any other, a sunny September morning. Sirius would’ve woken up full of excitement, young and lithe and hungry, and pounced on Moony. Kissing him, tickling his ribs, until Moony would've shoved him away with a sleepy groan. On his days off it still takes Remus a while to come to. After some Fizzing Elderflower Wine with breakfast, they would’ve headed into town. This part is sketchy in Sirius’ mind, all he knows is that they had told no one, that they went on their own. That they had put on nice clothes for the occasion. 

They'd only decided on the date the previous night, on their way home from a funeral. An acquaintance had been killed, things were getting serious. “I'm not waiting,” Sirius had announced to Remus over a solemn pint. “Let's just do it?”

Remus had nodded sombrely, and smiled. “Tomorrow, then.”

So they went to Diagon Alley. They held hands as they entered the shop. Still staring at the Daily Prophet, blind to any of the flashing headlines, Sirius remembers. That feeling - almost trembling, shivering with anticipation, eager to do this thing, impatient to have done it. 

McKinnon had told them about the establishment, about the mysterious Neapolitan witch running it. The wood panelled shop was dark, lit only by a handful of candles and a blueish will-o’-the-wisp trapped in a glass lantern. The woman seemed to materialise out of nowhere, tall and thin with large mournful eyes in her ghostly face, framed by long curtains of black hair. She barely spoke, merely nodded when Remus explained why they’d come, and Sirius laid out exactly what they wanted. For a moment she regarded them intensely, then she smiled and took their hands. As she led them into a back room, Sirius remembers feeling relieved, as though they’d passed some sort of test.

Dropping the paper onto the counter, he pulls at the open front of his embroidered robe to glance at his bare chest. There it is, to the left of his breastbone. Small and elegant, the two initials in Remus’ hand, currently a vivid cobalt blue. Above the heart, or at least that was the idea.

“ _R.M._?” he remembers James frowning at it. “What's that stand for, then? Some sort of Charm?”

“They're Moony's initials, you moron,” Sirius huffed, rolling his eyes. “Look, he's got mine.”

Grinning, Remus lifted his t-shirt, and James, still puzzled, studied the small mark Sirius had inked there between two long silvery scars. “ _S.P._? I thought your middle name was Ori– oh, I see. Right, of course. Moony. Padfoot. I get it.”

Remus has collected many more scars since then, forming a pale pattern on his lean and muscular chest. Sirius’ torso on the other hand is darker now, covered in a dense pattern of dark purple and black. Symbols, talismans, and sigils, for defense and protection, and things like mental clarity. A Hebridean Black slithers around his right pectoral and side, and sometimes onto his back. There are unmoving pictures, too – the rampant Gryffindor lion near his left shoulder, and silhouettes on his arm of a proud stag, a running wolf. Lines of text meant as cryptic memory aids. All his prison tattoos keep a respectful distance from that one small, bright spot near his sternum, the one most crucial mark.

“You need to know that this is permanent,” the Neapolitan witch had solemnly warned them, her face glowing like a pale moon in the darkness. Sirius and Remus nodded ceremoniously. Permanence was the point, permanence was why they had come. With both of them prone to changing shape, rings would get lost, other jewellery might constrict their movements. This would suit them perfectly.

Sirius touches the crisp inked lines, marvelling at the colour. These days it is almost always bright, and it’s as clear as ever. It’s just the actual date that slipped from his mind. He’s never lost sight of what the mark means. Even during that endless stretch of horror and oblivion, he’s been fully aware of its significance. For better, for worse, as the classic promise goes, in sickness and in health. Permanence, indeed. 

They'd decided to commit to each other in the wake of Prongs’ and Lily’s wedding. Thanks to the Dementors, Sirius can't recall how it happened, but he knows that he'd wanted to do it for ages, that he’d been working up to it. There was a war on and no time to lose. He remembers his urge to make things official, to make things clear. He has no idea who did the asking or who said yes, what words were exchanged. Only that they must've agreed. 

Because they’d gone and stood before that tall and forbidding woman and recited vows. They’d used her quill with the opal tipped needle and inscribed on each other’s skin the symbols of their promise. Twenty years ago today.

Remus hasn't mentioned anything. Before he slipped out of bed earlier at what felt like the crack of dawn, off to a meeting in town, he had nuzzled against Sirius the same as on any other day. Kissing his shoulder and his throat, disentangling their warm limbs, he had encouraged Sirius to sleep a bit more and promised to be back some time after lunch. With eyes clouded by sleep, Sirius watched that gorgeous naked man disappear into the shower. Cursing idiot clients who insisted on starting so early, he stretched out and, longing for Moony’s shape against him, he drifted off again. 

Of course he must know, Sirius reckons. Moony’s brain has always effortlessly retained facts and figures. But since Sirius’ mind has been stripped and scoured of most of his happy memories, Remus has made a habit of letting certain things slide, rather than cause either of them embarrassment or unnecessary pain. For years now, Sirius realises, since they’ve been reunited, and even since they’ve been fully back together, Remus would’ve seen the 2nd of September come and go, Sirius would’ve spent the day with him in blissful ignorance, or possibly even in one of his moods. And Remus would’ve said nothing. No more of that, Sirius decides, getting up briskly, draining the last of his coffee. The day calls for a proper celebration. He's going into town anyway, might as well try and find them something special while he’s at it, something to mark the occasion. 

Lathering his aching muscles in the shower, Sirius wonders if they’re meant to be meeting their Irish client tonight. He hopes not. He’s still feeling knackered from their last job, removing an aggressive water demon from a well in Swindon. A real piece of work, the thing went for Sirius with a vengeance. Of course he and Remus managed to vanquish it eventually, but the process was much nastier than expected. Their next assignment sounds worryingly like a chimaera, uncommon though they are in County Clare. They’ll want to be in good shape before tackling a creature like that. These days Sirius always needs a bit longer to recover. His younger self would've scoffed at the idea, but he’d actually love a quiet night in.

Towelling himself dry, he catches a glance of himself in the glass, the flash of blue on his chest, and a stray memory hits him. That same vivid cobalt blue. Sirius, aged barely twenty, in their old flat, shaving in front of the bathroom mirror. Preening in his low slung pyjama bottoms, his mussed black hair standing on end. In the background Remus, deliciously naked, snoring gently in their bed. Sirius flashing his teeth at the glass, flexing his muscles. There was Moony’s scent all over his skin, Moony’s taste in his mouth, traces of Moony’s cum on his legs, on his belly, in his arse. And on his chest, that little patch of vibrant colour. Sirius loved seeing it there. Blue, meaning Remus shared his pure, joyful contentment. 

He lingers over this mental image as he carefully chooses his clothes. His mind is noticeably improving. Fragments, bits and pieces, whole chunks of memory are still coming back to him. His past is filling in more rapidly now that the war has been over for two years, and they’ve moved here, into their excellent new house. With space for an ever expanding collection of strange artefacts, with a beautiful library and a large garden, and a room that still belongs to Harry, even now that he’s shacked up with Ginny. And here, in Sirius’ and Remus’ bedroom, with the large and comfortable bed they’ve chosen together. They’re no longer making do, this is exactly what they wanted. 

Apparently, since Sirius has been experiencing pure, carefree joy again, he’s beginning to recall having experienced it before. He’s remembered what today is! It’ll be a surprise for Remus. Sirius can’t help grinning in anticipation. Pocketing his shopping list for Diagon Alley, he turns on his heel and Disapparates with a crack.

* * *

The Wizarding streets are surprisingly busy. Sirius chats pleasantly with Madam Briggs at the Apothecary as she squints at his list and piles the various items onto the counter. After a period of mutual awkwardness, people behind counters, and people serving in pubs, no longer quietly draw their wands when they see him. Having his official pardon splashed all over the papers helped no end. He's even been approached about a book deal, though as he explained to the publishers, the concept of memoirs is pointless if much of your past is still a mystery to you.

With his purchases stowed in a bag, he strolls on along the shop fronts, enjoying the sunshine. Passing Quality Quidditch Supplies, he hesitates for a moment, but of course he can’t resist nipping in. He never can. Just briefly, in James’ honour. 

Padfoot and Prongs used to spend most of any trip to Diagon Alley in this shop. Leaving fingerprints all over the display cases, fantasising about the professional grade brooms, investing in small items of official merchandise. Sirius wonders what Prongs would've made of the new model Snitch on display. He briefly picks up a purple and gold painted Quaffle, limited edition, Goblin made. A frantically animated poster on the wall introduces _How I Win_ , a new book by Viktor Krum. Ugly bruiser, but quite the genius on the pitch, as illustrated by his breathtaking stunts on the poster.

Sirius has been here with Harry, too, loads of times. To inspect and discuss the latest innovations, perhaps buy him a tin of broom wax. And they always talked a little about James, too. Sirius loved each of those outings, even if they caused him almost physical pain.  
No matter that Sirius would do anything for Harry, James remains gone. The awful burden of guilt hasn’t diminished, no matter how convincingly Albus and Kingsley and Remus have argued against it. And Prongs is still present at the back of his mind. He’s never really gone away. Suddenly impatient, Sirius exits the shop. Nothing in there is romantic at all. He’s going to have to look further afield.

Then, outside Gambol and Japes, he stops dead. Here. This is where it was. He must've passed this place countless times, oblivious to its significance. Oddly poignant that it should now house a joke shop. He barely would have recognised the building, except for the door, which hasn't changed. And there is the narrow alley they'd ducked into afterwards, snogging hungrily against the withered brickwork, ignoring that same faint whiff of ammonia.

Staring at the very door that once led to those dark and mysterious rooms, he can almost smell the resinous incense wafting about. The tall, silent witch had led them into the back, to a candlelit table draped in black velvet. She wordlessly produced an elegant wooden box, and opened it to reveal a shiny brass quill tipped with that opal needle. Next to it she placed a bottle of Charmed, colourless ink. Then she quietly explained the procedure.

"You need to know that it is permanent." She spoke with a sonorous voice in a gentle, lilting accent, but her gaze was so intense that Sirius felt strangely brave for maintaining eye contact. "You'll always be revealing crucial information to each other. Your partner will always know how you feel about them. There'll be no hiding, no pretense. It can be painful, especially when things change." What an absurd idea, Sirius had thought impatiently. He couldn't imagine ever feeling differently about Moony. "Neglect will make it fade,” she continued. “But only once there is no emotional connection at all will the mark truly disappear."

"We understand," Moony nodded earnestly.

The witch made them try out the quill on a piece of stained leather, then asked if they had prepared any special words they wanted to say. "Yes," they replied in unison. She held out her hands for them to take, and nodded encouragingly.

What happened next is as clear in Sirius’ mind as though it had happened an hour ago. He’s previously lost grasp of the context, of where it might belong in the wretched and wildly confusing puzzle of his past. But he’s never forgotten Moony’s youthful face, fixing him with wide amber eyes, that shy smile on his lips. He remembers the lump in his own throat, being strangely overcome, just about managing to croak the words they’d come here to say. 

Smiling serenely, the witch let go of their hands. She gripped the quill and whispered a long, foreign incantation, before handing it to Remus, nodding ceremoniously. Trembling with excitement, Sirius unbuttoned his shirt. Remus dipped the opal needle into the magical ink and approached, only hesitating for an instant.

Then there was Moony's cool hand on Sirius’ chest. The needle moved calmly and swiftly, the tip burning like fire. Sirius remembers feeling nervous when it was his turn, uneasy about searing Remus' skin in the same way, but of course Moony barely blinked. It was only afterwards that Remus seemed rattled, apparently stunned they'd really gone and done it. Sirius laughed, feeling a bit giddy, and pulled Remus into a long, passionate kiss. The witch took their hands again and whispered something, she touched their cheeks, and their temples, quietly wishing them a long and happy life.

They buttoned up their shirts and bounded out of the shop. Looking at Gambol and Japes now, it's strange to think that their young and innocent selves would've passed through this very same door. Sirius shakes himself out of his reverie and walks on.

He seems to recall them going for a celebratory drink at the Leaky Cauldron after, and an extravagant meal after that. As the stinging pain faded, they couldn't help peeking at their brand new tattoos again and again. The surrounding skin seemed a bit puffy, but the markings burned a clear, bright blue. They tried to get them to change colour, pretending to be angry, or jealous, or afraid. Of course none of it worked. They only managed successions of violet and red, later at the flat. Desire and lust. And bright blue again, for pure happiness. 

James sent them an accusing owl, _What on earth is going on, don't you and Moony ever leave that flat anymore?_ as though he'd guessed that Sirius and Remus had spent the past two days not even bothering to get dressed, shagging each other senseless.

 _Why would we?_ Sirius had written in reply, and made some lewd joke, before explaining. _Anyway we’re on our honeymoon. Because we've done it, Prongs! Got hitched._ Knowing how much James hated feeling excluded, he made sure to add something along the lines of, _Spur of the moment thing, no one but us. Coming round later to discuss the party, all right?_

When they had first got together, it was the notion of a blossoming romance between Remus and Sirius that seemed to puzzle James the most. Back at Hogwarts, he could handle the fact his best mates kept getting off together, as long as he thought it was to fulfil some urgent physical need. But he poked fun at anything that hinted at deeper feelings between them. Dismissed any evidence of their mutual affection, as though it was some great joke they only maintained in order to torture him.

Eventually, once Remus and Sirius moved in together, he got used to the idea. Couldn’t stop teasing them, of course. But when they told him they had proposed to each other, that they were planning to get their own version of married, James seemed genuinely delighted. He hugged them excitedly and insisted on taking them out for drinks, heartily congratulating them on “finally making honest men of each other.” 

Some time later, over a quiet pint at the pub, Sirius explained about the Charmed tattoos he and Remus had decided to get. James laughed out loud.

“They change colour!? Bit cheesy, isn't it? Even for you.”

“No it isn't,” Sirius protested, irritated. “It's cool. And useful, for communicating. When I'm out in the field, or when he's off on one of Dumbledore’s blasted missions, he'll still know that I - you know. Miss him, and so on.”

“So the one you've got would always tell you what he thinks of you? Are you sure that's wise?” James smirked. “Dunno if I'd want _is a pillock_ permanently written on my skin.”

“Ha bloody ha.” Sirius couldn't help grinning. “It’s not that detailed. Just - the general feeling, you know? Excitement, joy, anger, fear - that sort of thing.”

“Right. So you would know every time he’s fed up, or pissed off…”

“Well, yeah.” Sirius shrugged. “Why not? I’d like to know.”

James took a long gulp of his pint. “And what if you - I dunno, fancy someone else? Even in passing? Or he does? Would it show that?”

“James.” Sirius spoke very clearly, since Prongs was so painfully slow on the uptake. “You do realise that for the foreseeable future I plan to be with this one particular person only. One might even say that that’s the bloody point of the exercise.” He huffed in frustration. “I know the impending baby has addled your brain. But you'll remember that I've been entirely faithful to your friend Moony for over four years.”

“Right, yes, I know.” Grinning sheepishly, James cleared his throat. “Sorry.”

“Course someone else might take my fancy one day,” Sirius conceded, “or his. Even yours! We're only human. But as far as I’m aware, it's not happened yet. I s’ppose the bar’s been set fairly high.”

“Has it?” James raised a teasing eyebrow.

“Yes!” Rolling his eyes, Sirius downed most of his beer. “You may not agree. But you try and find me someone to match Moony. Or actually, don’t bother,” he set down his glass firmly. “Because there isn’t anyone.”

And that’s as true now as it was then, Sirius thinks, gazing at the titles in the window at Flourish & Blotts, idly wondering whether Moony would’ve passed by here earlier. There never has been anyone to match him. Sirius still wants that gentle, powerful man as vehemently now as he did twenty years ago. 

“Sirius Black! As I live and breathe,” a voice booms behind him, before a large hand claps him on the back. “Just the man I was looking for.”

“Hello, Mad-Eye.” Sirius winces. “Am I?”

Mad Eye Moody chortles. “Absolutely. How are you? Business going well?” 

“Can’t complain.”

“Lupin all right?” He leans in closer, lowering his voice. “Not found a cure, have you? He’s looking so much better these days. Both of you are.”

“Sadly not,” Sirius shrugs. “Must be just - peacetime, agreeing with us… You’re in fine fettle yourself, though.”

“Love, my boy.” He huffs a bit. “Constance and I – well, it’s a great tonic, isn’t it? I’m sure you know as well as anyone.”

Sirius grins, somewhat taken aback. “Yes, I s’ppose I do.”

“Listen.” Mad-Eye leans in again. He seems to be wearing aftershave, his magical eye is rotating wildly. “I may have something for you. Curse breaking. Former Death Eater stronghold near Weston-super-Mare. Large house, passed into benign hands now, but damned near impenetrable. Might be something for you to get stuck into? Take Tonks along, she’ll give you a hand.”

“Sounds great.” Nodding, Sirius takes a step back. He’s never known Mad-Eye Moody to be this friendly. “We’d be happy to look at it, thanks. Be good to see Tonks as well. How is she? Haven’t heard from her in ages.”

“Excellent!” Moody booms. “Happy as a flea in a doghouse, now that she’s moved in with whatsername, that French girl of hers. Fleur. You’d think spring is in the air, the way they've been carrying on. And what with the papers still harping on about _The Potter Wedding_ – here to meet Harry, are you? Saw him earlier at Weasley’s Wheezes, but he seems to have - ah,” he stops himself and turns to point down the road. “My mistake. There’s your man over there. Important assignment, is it?” He raises a large hand and waves. In the distance a tall, lanky figure waves back – Remus, carrying what looks like a pile of documents, and a Muggle plastic bag from his favourite record shop in Covent Garden. 

“Yeah, chimaera, I think,” Sirius says absentmindedly.

“Better watch out with those. Mind you, between the two of you, you’ll have it eating out of your hand in no time.” Mad-Eye chuckles. “Or out cold, depending.”

“Yeah...” Incredulous, Sirius shoots him a sidelong glance. He’s never heard Mad Eye express confidence in anyone’s abilities either. This new love interest must be working wonders.

“Hello Alastor,” Remus greets them cheerfully as he joins them, smiling at them in turn. “Sirius.”

“Remus, good to see you. I was just telling Sirius here how to tame a chimaera,” Mad-Eye explains. “Music is the easiest way. Play it a lullaby. They like Harpy songs, the sound of Inferi vomiting, or else a Muggle music style known as Free Jazz.” 

“Really?” Remus asks with interest. “Did Tonks research this for you, by any chance?” He’s keeping an impressively straight face, but Sirius can’t help chuckling.

“Mad-Eye’s got us a job,” he says quickly, as Moody furrows his brows. “Curse breaking, former Death Eater house. Could be fun?”

“Definitely.” Remus agrees.

“I’ll send you the details.” Mad-Eye nods firmly, squinting at the pocket watch he’s pulled from his coat. “Better be off now. Got - um - an appointment to keep.” He grins suggestively and actually _winks_ at them. Sirius can’t believe it. “Enjoy your day. I’ll be in touch.” Not even waiting for a reply, Moody abruptly turns and stalks off.

The two younger men stare after him, speechless. “What on earth’s happened to him?” Sirius grins. “Never seen the old blighter this jolly.”

“Maybe he’s been attacked by something?” Remus wonders. “Or someone’s fed him a potion–”

Sirius shakes his head. “It’s a woman. He’s seeing someone.”

“Right...” This revelation seems to puzzle Remus even more.

“You should’ve heard him! Saying that between us we’d easily handle a chimaera, and then going on about love being a tonic…” 

“Did he?” 

“Even pointed you out as _my man_.”

“Well, he’s not wrong, is he,” Remus shrugs. “On any of those counts. Listen, I bumped into Harry and Ginny earlier. They want to come round this afternoon?”

“Oh… We’re not going to Ireland tonight, are we?” When Remus shakes his head, Sirius breathes a sigh of relief. “Thank Merlin for that. Course it's fine they're coming round, it's just that - I was sort of hoping I'd have you to myself later.”

“Oh yeah?” Remus grins, watching him curiously, his eyes almost golden in the sunlight. Trying to work him out, Sirius knows, something Remus has always been devilishly good at. “Don't come back too late then…?” he adds suggestively.

“Right,” Sirius says breezily and clears his throat, determined to keep his plans secret. “Better get on in that case, got another couple of things to sort out. I'll see you at home.” He pulls Remus in for a kiss – not a chaste peck on the cheek, but a full on snog, with tongues, passers-by be damned. Surprised, Remus squirms only slightly, but goes along with it.

“Don't be too long,” Remus says huskily when they come apart.

“I won’t.” Sirius beams, playfully squeezing Moony’s bum.

 

Walking out of Denmark Place and across Charing Cross Road, Sirius carefully navigates the passing Muggle buses, the cyclists and black cabs. The road boasts a multitude of shops selling second hand books, and he briefly considers visiting the antiquarian bookshops in Cecil Court, but decides against it. He’ll get Moony a book any day of the week, and he often does. In fact, Sirius himself has developed a passion of books. At first, after Azkaban, he seemed to have misplaced words, having been a dog for so long. He hated starting and stopping, forever digging around for the right term or phrase. Books helped. When words wouldn’t come, he had read a lot. 

But today isn’t an occasion for books, Sirius reckons, turning into Old Compton Street. He’s looking for something extravagant, something special. Today is worth celebrating. It’s been a while now, but he can still hardly believe that he and Remus are what they always should have been. When it comes down to it, it’s always been the simplest equation – Sirius and Remus, Padfoot and Moony. Ever since that amazing, terrifying first kiss in Sixth Year, hiding behind a statue in a dark and freezing Hogwarts corridor, it’s always been obvious that they blatantly belong together. 

And when they haven’t been, the pain of it was debilitating. They won't make that mistake again, of letting things go so badly wrong. Of course the first war got to everyone, the fear and uncertainty ground them down, the horrors of it wore them out. Lack of sleep and mounting, persistent danger made them nervous, and cantankerous, and in the case of Sirius, wildly jealous. 

He began to doubt everything, and became suspicious. He and Remus clung together, but they began to fight, too. About nonsense and rubbish, really. Once, over a pint, and each of them gruffly bemoaning their home life, James explained that, “They only can really get under your skin once you’re married to them.” 

Things only got worse. Shaken by Order missions, Sirius would return alone, pacing their flat, waiting to hear anything at all from Moony, who kept disappearing on his own assignments for days at a time. Hoping for some hint as to what Remus was up to, Sirius obsessively checked the mark on his breastbone, which kept changing colour all the time. Eventually it turned yellow, for fear, and didn’t change again, even when Remus had returned. 

There was that one night, when Sirius, a bit drunk and already riled up, noticed the two letters darkening to an olive tint: Regret. Convinced this proved that Remus must have somehow deceived him, Sirius exploded. Hurling abuse and accusations, aiming his barbed jibes with unerring precision, he watched his worst remarks inflict their damage, and found himself unable to stop. Remus doesn’t show pain, he retreats behind his armour, but Sirius knew him too well. Everything changed, then. Even later, any attempts to make it up only backfired badly. 

They barely spoke, Remus was around even less. There, on his own chest, Sirius saw the extent of Remus’ anger, smouldering and dark, in silent reproach. He saw regret there, too, and scoffed at it, and even purple, for longing, which he dismissed. Maybe to punish himself as much as Moony.

If only they'd chosen their words differently, maybe Sirius wouldn't have let himself be so tragically misled by the rat. But he probably would've managed to twist anything to fit his paranoid theories. It was Peter who’d dripped the poison into Sirius’ ear, and it was Sirius who had allowed himself to be hoodwinked. 

Only when the worst had actually happened, and the smoke cleared, did Sirius realise. Terrific liar that Remus is, in terms of where his allegiance lay, he had only ever told Sirius the unembellished truth.

Following his incarceration, the mark burnt dark and angry for weeks. Sirius recognised the murky hues of disappointment and outright hatred, and in his anguish, he had to agree. Guilt, immense, all encompassing, was eating him alive. 

He raged pointlessly. Disembowelled by grief and despair, the sickening pain of his loss was going to split him in two. Facing the unbearable fact that James was gone. That Peter had tricked them all. That as far as Remus was concerned, Sirius might as well be dead.  
As he was forced to accept the full horror of his situation, he gradually began to emerge from the fog. There must be some curse on him – fate, cruel as ever, hadn't even let him die. But there was no purpose to being alive, except to avenge his dead best friend. To eradicate the traitor.

He began to collect other markings on his body, talismans at first, then memory aids, then pictures for something to do. It was slow and painful work, but he had time, and that sort of pain now meant nothing. The circles and symbols and drawings on his torso crowded around the tiny, most important mark, still a dark, murky colour, but blurred somehow and fading. 

Once or twice, he actually saw it brighten. Purple, for longing, or yellow, for fear. It shocked him, making him well up at once with some warped, desperate joy that threatened to choke him, that made him sob uncontrollably. He'd speak to it then, rambling on in his mad fantasy that Remus might hear him. Or feel him. Or at least vaguely sense something in some corner of his mind. Instead, the mark began to fade. For days, he told himself he was imagining it. Until it was gone.

Soon enough, Sirius retreated into his canine shape almost all the time. The horror became less present, dulled into a mass of vague human memory.

Taking deep, measured breaths, Sirius shakes himself, shaking off the leaden queasiness that still overcomes him whenever his thoughts stray back to that place. He mustn’t dwell on it. It’s a beautiful, sunny day, with late summer flowers blooming in hanging baskets. People are still sitting outside the many bars and cafés, chatting and laughing, and snogging, too. Two boys are kissing passionately in a doorway, next to a shop selling bondage gear. Sirius cringes slightly at the display in the window – he’s every bit as keen on adventurous sex as Remus is, but since Azkaban chains and clamps are no longer fun. 

He definitely appreciates the change in Muggle society since he roamed these streets as a much younger man. He never could understand why they were so hellbent on interfering in whom people fancied or what they got up to in the bedroom. Even though Soho has always been famously permissive, back then people snogging someone of their own gender in the street would have led to abuse, and violence, or worse. 

For a moment he considers getting a present from one of the other gay sex shops in this street. Their selection is vast and fascinating, but it’s not the sort of thing he’s after today. Anyway, Remus knows exactly how fiercely Sirius desires him, and vice versa, so there’s probably no immediate need for bulge enhancing and bottomless briefs. Something classy is what he’s looking for today. 

As he ambles along, Sirius idly thinks of Moony naked, this morning. He wants to get home soon. Time to get a move on. 

He remembers the first time they met again, in the shrieking shack. Remus, open mouthed, staring. First at Sirius’ face. Then at his chest. It was awful, seeing the look in Remus’ eyes, obviously deeply shocked by what Sirius had become. Sirius had expected him to recoil in revulsion and disgust, but instead Remus touched him, hugged him close, before that fateful night unfolded. 

Much later, Sirius inspected his human body. He'd been a dog for so long, his human skin seemed like a novelty. Of course he was in dismal shape. But there, in the empty patch near his breastbone, he suddenly saw colour. He saw lines. As crisp and strong as he remembered them, the same old two letters. Green: remorse.

As long as there is a connection, the witch had said. Apparently it hadn’t been severed. Holding on to that thought, Sirius met Remus again, though he was fairly sure he did not deserve to even speak to Remus ever again. He looked him up at that cottage in the West Country, and stayed there, trying to regain his senses. 

He remembers examining his chest back then, looking for the mark again and again. It was as crisp as ever and changed colour often. He knew it wouldn't show him desire again, it wouldn't show him love. That was all right. Sirius genuinely wasn't sure what he was feeling, what he himself could handle. His emotions tended to go haywire, they would just overcome him, sparking wildly, aimlessly, like a box of firecrackers. 

He didn’t mean to burden Remus – physically and mentally, Sirius was a mere shell of a man. Barely a faint shadow of the person he'd been. But he knew he wanted Moony. He wasn't sure how much, or in what way, but he wanted Moony. A part of himself, or of his old self. His other half. 

These days of course, he’ll actually doze naked again, sprawled out on the bed, while Remus is up and about doing things. It's taken him a long time to remember how to be unselfconscious about his wreck of a body. He's managed to restore the scrawny, ravaged frame somewhat, though it's still a poor replica of his former self. Remus seems oblivious, or at least blind to what to Sirius are glaring flaws.

“It used to be me,” Remus shrugged when once, ages ago, Sirius pointed this out to him. “I never believed you, when you said you liked my body, scars and all.” Remus smiled, running a slow hand down Sirius’ chest, and added lightly, “I don’t care either. It’s you. That’s enough.”

And Sirius saw it for himself then, in the mark of love that doesn't lie. The same violet that he remembered blossoming on his chest all those years ago. The colour of lust, and desire. Back then, he’d notice the change of hue and smugly swagger off to find Moony, striking a seductive pose and pointing at it with raised eyebrows: "Oh yeah?"

Grinning, Remus wouldn't even bother to reply, not with words anyway.

At the large delicatessen on Brewer Street, he invests in sparkling wine and charcuterie, a mouth watering array of Spanish and Italian hams, some fine bacon, a bit of paté, and fat sausages. The full moon isn’t for another ten days, but Remus relishes his meat, and this will do nicely. 

Lighting a cigarette, he decides to have a look at the record shops on Berwick Street. Maybe Mad-Eye was right about the Chimaera after all – might be worth trying to find some suitable music. The market is in full swing, the fruit and veg stalls are buzzing with people. Sirius stops at a stall of second hand goods, selling antique brass items, broken lamps, crumbling books, and chipped china. Intrigued by a model steamship, he notices some jewellery displayed on padded blue velvet. Medals on frayed ribbons, a few diamante chains, and cheap rings. And there’s one particular ring, with a raised, cut stone in an elaborate silver setting. Sirius picks it up and slips it on, and is surprised to see the stone changing colour, from a milky green to a warm purple. “What stone is this?” He asks the market trader.

“Mood ring, mate.” the man grins. “Big in the ‘70s, remember?” 

“Does it change colour!?” Sirius keeps moving his hand, the stone glitters and flashes.

“Yeah, course! That’s the point, isn’t it?”

Sirius frowns. “D’you know what the colours mean?”

The man snorts. “Nah, mate. God knows. It’s meant to change colour according to your mood or something... Never would work on the old ball and chain, I'll tell ya. Only has the one setting - _not in the mood_.” He chortles. “Trinket for the missus, is it?”

“Yeah.” Sirius nods absentmindedly. “Husband, actually.” 

“Genuine antique, that,” the man boasts proudly. “Yours for a fiver.”

It’s obviously just a piece of cheap tat, but the ring looks great on. It strangely complements the one Sirius is already wearing on his little finger - his much loved Berber ring, chunky silver, beautifully inlaid with dark wood, and set with an opaque stone that’s a sort of Gryffindor red.

"Carnelian,” Remus had explained when he'd presented it to him, years ago, in the souk in Tangier. “A symbol of friendship." One of the first personal items Sirius owned after prison. He had still been on the run then. The trip was a secret treat, a surprise to improve his health and his spirits. 

They'd been nervous, unused to each other. Only once they'd downed a couple of cocktails at the Hotel Continental had they loosened up, cracked jokes, managed to look at each other properly, and for longer stretches of time. They'd strolled around the souk, and Remus kept finding curios and carpets to haggle over for fun. Warmed by the alcohol, Sirius enjoyed himself, though he found all the hustle and bustle confusing. Things still got to him quickly then, he'd often find himself overwhelmed and exhausted. Remus seemed perfectly at ease, he joked and bantered in French and Arabic, while Sirius watched in quiet awe. 

Moony still cultivates an innocuous disguise – bookish, polite, quick to smile, and prone to random acts of kindness – for the hard-bitten, resilient adventurer he really is. After the first war, he left everything behind. With Memory Charms obscuring the worst of his past, he travelled remote corners of the world, looking for any sort of future for himself. Utterly alone, keeping his distraught wolf at bay. Distracting and denying himself, desperate for oblivion. 

As much as Sirius hated thinking about Remus alone, he had to ask, he needed to know in detail. At first, after Azkaban, they didn't see much of each other, beyond those crucial few weeks down in the West Country, where Remus brought Sirius’ ravaged, flea ridden skeleton back to life, and helped him begin to sort his head out. Later there were a few scattered days and weekends at Grimmauld Place.  
"Tell me," Sirius would urge him then, from across the room, or later, on the sofa by the fire with his head in Remus’ lap. "Tell me more."

Moony's adventures sounded by turns hilarious and hair raising. He has done mental, dangerous things, but Remus recounted them all in the same modest way. He chuckled at a funny episode, then shrugged at a scenario that must’ve been harrowing. True to form, he’s amassed a huge amount of strange and obscure knowledge, too. "Escape," is what he'd called his hunger for the unknown, "it was an effective escape, from myself. I was pretending to be a scholar of some sort, which of course I'm not. I was a sort of collector, at best, I suppose."

Back then, in the souk, Sirius had barely heard any of those stories. He found this older, exotic Remus bewildering, and wildly attractive. They were still as good as strangers then, but Remus offered him this solid token of friendship. Sirius, two cocktails in, realising that he was drunk on Remus’ scent and thrilled by his proximity, thanked him politely. He’s worn that Berber ring every day since.

All things considered, this strange ring seems like an excellent idea. “I’ll give you two quid for it,” Sirius says brazenly, attempting to haggle. They settle on three fifty, and Sirius gives the man a fiver anyway. The man hands him a little velvet pouch, but Sirius pockets it, wanting to look at the ring a little longer. He walks on, massively pleased with himself, watching it glitter in the sun.

* * *

When he gets home there’s a record playing, and a bunch of fresh flowers on the dining table – cornflowers, bellflowers, larkspur, and jasmine – but Remus is nowhere to be seen. 

Sirius stashes the bacon and sausages away, and taps the wine with his wand to chill it down. He can’t resist opening the charcuterie, and once he does, he decides to get out a large plate and make a decent job of it. He’s enjoying the music, must be the record Remus bought earlier. When the song changes, Sirius realises he actually knows it.

Muscle memory, he'd thought, standing in that sparse living room in Remus’ cottage, when first their lips found each other again. Breathing the scent that lured him, that had always pulled him in. His body had taken the lead, his own heartbeat thundering in his ears. Wanting Moony close, allowing, encouraging their firm embrace. 

And then going for that daring, tentative kiss, because it was what naturally came next. Yes, this, home, was what the scent meant. This is the person, your person. All he ever wanted, the Muggle man was singing on the radio, all he ever needed. Here, in my arms. Words are very unnecessary, they only do harm.

He'd kept his eyes closed, but when he opened them, Remus looked as flustered as he himself felt. And Sirius was stunned to find that he recognised that expression perfectly. In his mind echoed their old, childish slogan, “Marauders!” 

So he smiled, and gently kissed Remus again. And again.

"Did you get everything you wanted?"

Sirius is startled by the sudden voice behind him. Remus’ hand rests on his shoulder for a moment, before trailing down his back. Sirius leans into the stubbly kiss on his cheek, before turning to kiss Remus full on the lips. He inhales Moony’s scent, as heady and delicious as ever. When he lets him go, Remus eyes the platter of cured meats. "This looks wonderful! Harry and Ginny aren’t due for a while, though..."

“Good.” Sirius clears his throat. "This is just for us."

"Oh?" Remus looks at him quizzically, a half smile on his lips. "What's the occasion?" Apparently he's still not getting his hopes up.

" _You_ know." Sirius says gently. "You’ve even got flowers in, haven’t you?" 

Frowning slightly, obviously intrigued, Remus cocks his head, waiting for Sirius to elaborate.

"In fact, I’ve got you something, too." Sirius produces the little velvet pouch from his shirt pocket. "Happy anniversary, darling."

Moony's jaw drops as Sirius places the small present in his hand. He stares at it, dumbfounded, and up at Sirius. "Right," he croaks. "Thank you." His cheeks tinge with pink as he opens the little pouch. Sirius can't help grinning, beyond pleased to have managed to surprise him. Remus extracts the Muggle ring, holds it up to the light, and laughs. "A mood ring?" He turns the thing in his fingers, raising a questioning eyebrow.

"Yeah, that’s what it’s called. It’s not –” Sirius inhales sharply, “it’s just a bit of nonsense. Changes colour, you know.” 

“Yeah,” Remus says quietly, grinning as he moves to slip the ring on.

“ _Yours absolutely,_ ” Sirius breathes, “ _for as long as you will have me._ ” He never planned to recite the exact words. 

Astonished, Moony looks up. "You remember it, then?"

"Every word. She did say it would be permanent. Turns out she was right."

The ring looks strangely extravagant on Moony’s finger, a shiny, bright jewel on that large, talented hand. Moony has never been one for adornments. He’s laughing again, and glancing at Sirius in wonder. 

His Adam’s apple moves as he swallows hard. "Thank you. I, um..." Drawing his wand, he gently touches the ring with it. An exact replica tumbles onto the table. He picks it up, reaching for Sirius' hand. Open mouthed, mesmerised, Sirius watches him slide the ring onto his finger. “ _Yours,_ ” Remus says quietly. “ _For as long as you can stand it._ ” They laugh a little. “Happy anniversary, Pads.” Remus reaches out to cup Sirius’ face. They kiss slowly, languidly. There’s that curious ache in Sirius’ chest. And he can feel Moony getting hard.

When they come apart, he wraps Remus in a tight hug, grinding their hips together. He clears his throat. "I've got us some bubbly, too."

He pops the cork, and they pretend to be interested in the wine, but after a few sips, their glasses are forgotten near the sofa.

Lying back, Sirius pulls Remus on top of him. They’re snogging fiercely, hips moving together, as Sirius starts undressing Moony piece by piece. First his shirt, running impatient hands over Moony’s lean, muscular back. Then he opens Moony’s trousers, sliding his hands into them as he slowly pushes them down, savouring the delicious curve of Moony’s arse. Moony bucks into him, breathing hard against his throat, before pulling back onto his knees to undo Sirius’ belt and trousers. When he feels Moony’s fingers close around his cock, Sirius’ eyes flutter shut. 

They snog some more as Moony works Sirius’ cock, moving lower to lick and lap at the head, before sucking the entire shaft into his mouth, swiftly reducing Sirius to a panting mess. Gasping, Sirius moves into him, before pushing him away abruptly. As Moony straightens up, Sirius can’t get the man’s clothes off fast enough. Summoning his wand, he goes for the old failsafe that vanishes them in a flash, leaving Remus momentarily surprised, and gloriously naked. Remus grins, kissing Sirius again as he straddles his hips.

Sirius hungrily grasps Remus’ cock, pumping it slowly as he fondles his balls. Watching him, breathing audibly, Remus lifts and cants his hips, inviting Sirius’ fingers to stray further. 

As they wander along his perineum, Moony whispers the wandless Charm, holding Sirius’ gaze. Sirius feels the slick lube on his fingertips, feels Remus’ puckered hole give easily as he pushes one finger in, then two. He fingers Remus as he wanks Remus’ cock, until Remus stills his hand. “Fuck me, Pads,” he murmurs, bending to kiss Sirius again, providing Sirius with the perfect opportunity to line up his straining cock with Moony’s hole. 

With an almighty groan, Sirius plunges into the heat of Moony’s body, gasping at the slippery, perfectly tight fit. Sitting up with glazed, shining eyes, Moony is open to him, his hands on Sirius’ chest as he impales himself, meeting Sirius stroke for stroke. Still wanking Remus’ cock in time with his thrusts, Sirius is holding back, trying very hard not to come.

Moony changes the angle, leaning back to brace himself against Sirius’ thighs. Tangling a hand in the bunched up fabric there, he turns to glance at it. “New pants?” he smirks breathlessly, nodding at the bright purple fabric. 

He’s looking so debauched as Sirius keeps pounding up into him. “Yeah,” he says, breathing hard. “Sexy and backless. Part of my surprise. Should’ve known they’d be wasted on you.” When Remus cocks an eyebrow, he laughs. “Want to see them?”

“Yeah.” Remus’ grin turns into a gasp as Sirius thrusts up into him deeply. Gathering his senses, Sirius lifts Moony’s arse and slowly pulls out, snogging him a bit before moving out from under him completely. Shimmying up the purple briefs he stands and and strikes a pose, turning slowly. They bulge out in front, ridiculously tight around his swollen cock, and in the back they’re open, presenting his bum cheeks for easy access.

Sirius chuckles, but Remus just stares. “Nice,” he croaks, getting up rapidly. Sirius hears him whisper that Charm before he’s thought to do it himself, and Remus is upon him, his teeth gentle on the back of Sirius’ neck, his hand gripping Sirius’ straining, beautifully packaged prick, his cock hard and insistent, pressing wetly into Sirius’ crack.

Sirius bends forward, bracing himself against an armchair. After probing gently with a preliminary finger, Remus lines himself up and slowly, firmly pushes in. His cock feels huge, entering Sirius, and Sirius gasps as it fills him to the hilt. He gasps again when Remus pulls out, almost all the way, only to push back in. There is no burn, thanks to the Charm, only slippery friction, and the most delicious pressure of Remus’ cock moving inside him. Remus gropes and fondles him hungrily, pulling down the front of those pants just enough to let Sirius’ cock spring free. His left arm wrapped around Sirius, his right hand brilliantly working Sirius’ leaking cock, Remus fucks him, in a steady, mind blowing rhythm. His strokes are measured and precise, like the man himself, Sirius thinks, a low moan escaping him as Remus hits his prostate. As Remus keeps fucking him, thoughts desert Sirius altogether. He’s overwhelmed by it, a mad rush of pleasure, bursting, crashing into him. 

When he’s regained his senses, Remus is still gripping him tightly, panting crazily close to his ear. There’s spunk spattered across the armchair, Sirius notices.

Remus gently slips out. “Sorry,” he says quietly, rubbing the bite marks on Sirius’ shoulder.

“Don’t worry.” Sirius turns to nuzzle against Remus, pulling him with him down onto the sofa. They catch their breath, mumbling Cleaning Charms, Remus’ hand trailing down Sirius’ chest in a slow caress. A few gentle pokes - teasing the inked dragon, making it writhe and twitch its tail. 

Sirius blinks to find Remus staring at the little mark, then touching it with the pad of his thumb. “I think my handwriting is a bit different now,” Remus mumbles. “Not much, though.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius deadpans, “I've changed just slightly, too, since then.” He runs his fingers through Remus’ thick, greying hair. “Let me see yours.”

Remus shifts a bit and moves his arms, wrapping one around Sirius’ shoulder. Sirius smiles at the two curly letters etched into Moony's skin, the embarrassingly youthful flourish to the S, the decisive P. Burning a rosy red, the same shade as its counterpart. 

“Lucky bastards, aren't we?” Sirius muses, lifting his gaze to meet those same old amber eyes. “All these years. School. Two wars. Prison.” He summons his glass of sparkling wine and raises himself up to drink deeply, before offering it to Moony.

“Oh yeah,” Remus snorts, arching an eyebrow as he takes a long sip. “Very lucky.”

“We are, though,” Sirius insists. “For some reason, everything was always against us. And yet here we are, you and I. Still in bed together. Or on the sofa, as the case may be.”

Remus chuckles, and gulps down more of the wine. “I think bloody minded is the phrase you're looking for.” 

“Yeah,” Sirius agrees. He knocks back the last of the wine before sending the glass floating to the sink, and comfortably settles back against Remus. His skin is still buzzing, and his whole body feels light and a bit drowsy.

He can see himself, like this, but much younger. 

“Here.” Sirius had pointed at the exact spot on Remus’ chest. In bed, both of them naked, with Sirius propped up on one elbow, trailing fingers across Moony's skin. “That's where I'd put it.”

Remus squinted down at his own chest. “Right,” he said, studying Sirius’ pecs, before placing a fingertip halfway between the breastbone and left nipple. “There.”

“Yes! And what shall we get? I was thinking, perhaps a Hungarian horntail. Or a wolf and a hound? A moon and a star.”

“Nah.” Remus grinned, shaking his head. “No wolf, and no moon, please.” He gestured to Summon ink and a quill. “How about this.” And he bent forward and inked the two letters onto Sirius’ skin.

“Yes,” Sirius beamed, staring at the mark in wonder. It was simple, and it was true. “Let me do yours.”


End file.
